


want you gone

by EmbraceTheEccentric



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Denial, Light Angst, Spoilers for season 4 finale, description of death, michael shelley mentioned, not graphic, sasha james mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmbraceTheEccentric/pseuds/EmbraceTheEccentric
Summary: What if Michael found Gertrude right after Elias left
Relationships: Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	want you gone

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [tiktok](https://www.tiktok.com/foryou?lang=en#/@frankensigh/video/6897197995025059078) by @frankensigh who is an amazing cosplayer and all of you should check her out

_“You were the one so… **insistent** on staying human.”_

Gertrude didn’t exactly want Elias…Jonah’s words to be one of the last things to be floating around her head when she died, but that simple statement was oddly comforting for her. She had stayed human, despite her position as Archivist and despite all of the otherworldly things that had occurred around her. She had never needed any powers or had to sacrifice her dignity to grovel at the feet of some Entity in the hopes that they’d bestow any.

She had stayed human and she was damn proud of that fact…

But _fuck_ it hurts to be shot.

Was it a good or bad thing that the bullets hadn’t killed her immediately? She could try to escape but…no, Jonah wouldn’t allow such a thing. She would try to find Jurgen but she couldn’t risk leading Jonah to him. No, she’d just wait then. She had left the archives in a state of disarray and a tape of instructions for her successor. It was out of her hands now.

It was a miracle the bullets hadn’t hit anything too vital considering how Jonah had aimed for her chest but all three shots seemed to have lodged in just the right way to allow her to bleed out slowly. It was almost impressive that she was still alive, albeit in pain and gradually losing every drop of strength she had left in her. Maybe it had something to do with the Eye…

No.

No, she would accept none of the powers the Eye wished to gift to its Archivist. She rejected it. That _thing_ of voyeurism and fear was _not_ keeping her alive and it certainly wouldn’t possess her final thoughts. She’d bleed out in the archives, surrounded by old cassette tapes and the remnants of a failed plan, and she’d reject every last thing that damned Watcher had to offer.

The effects of blood loss were varied and many and Gertrude began running through the list in her head as a form of distraction from the sharp agony that lanced through her with every drawn breath.

The room was beginning to feel colder, that was one.

Her breathing was growing more rapid and shallow, that was another.

Confusion and hallucinations were potential symptoms, which would have explained the new door that had suddenly appeared against one of the room’s walls. A new…yellow…

_Door._

“Oh…oh…oh, Archivist,” A voice called out, playful and amused. Gertrude drew in another excruciating breath as echoed laughter bounced against the walls of the room, accompanied by the slow creak of an opening door. “What have you gone and done now?”

The door had opened, and Gertrude was now certain it was not a hallucination, though what stepped through it made her question if it was still a possibility that she was seeing things.

“Michael?” Gertrude rasped as she stared at the figure who had stepped through into the room. It had Michael’s face and his long blonde ringlets of hair and it was wearing that _god-awful_ shirt he always favored, garish and obnoxious with its print of swirling neon colors. It had Michael’s voice, that breathy lilting thing that carried throughout the archives whenever he laughed. But as her vision cleared and focused, she finally began to notice what was wrong. Its fingers were too long, its proportions were so impossible and staring at it made her head swim in a way that she knew was not due to blood loss. “ _Oh, god_ …”

The Distortion giggled like a delighted child as realization dawned in Gertrude’s expression, its stolen voice grating on her ears.

“I am not Michael,” The creature told her. “Though I do believe you’ve figured that out. Such is the way of the Beholding I suppose.”

Gertrude pressed her hands more firmly against the bleeding wounds in her chest. She had no hope of surviving but she refused to finally pass in the presence of this _thing_. She needed to hold out for a just a bit longer until it left.

“How did you find me?” She questioned.

“You trespassed on the land which does not exist and never has in the formative moments before our apotheosis,” The Distortion answered, its lighthearted tone shifting to something more spiteful. “You could never hide from us after such an interaction.”

“Then why not find me before now?” She asked, leaning back as much as she could in the chair she had collapsed into as the creature moved further into the room with slow and teasing strides. “I ruined your ritual.”

“You were not worth killing,” It replied with a patronizing grin. “But your death certainly isn’t one I’d do anything to prevent.” It stopped in its pacing just in front of Gertrude, a few feet away, and regarded her with a look of twisted pity. “You had always seemed so frail to me, something that needed protecting, but this is truly pathetic.”

Gertrude’s slowing mind snagged on those words. Frail and in need of protecting? That was how Michael had always seen her. He was always the one to check up on her when she was working to offer tea or a blanket or any sort of assistance.

She had assumed that the Distortion had consumed Michael entirely and now only wore his face like a mask, flipping through his memories like a reference book. But the way it had spoken made it sound as if Michael was still somehow a part of it, an involuntary passenger in its vessel. If he was still in there and could somehow take control then he could get her out of the institute and far from Jonah.

“Michael,” Gertrude quietly begged as she embraced the delicate persona that he had always pictured her having. “Michael, please-”

“Oh, you think Michael can hear you?” The Distortion’s smile twisted impossibly wider as Gertrude sneered and dropped the weak façade. “That he’s just trapped somewhere inside of me like a little prison? You _fed him_ to us, Gertrude Robinson. You made us Michael and ruined our ascension by giving us _his name_. I am not Michael, and yet…”

The Distortion trailed off, suddenly appearing conflicted. It made sense for it to speak in riddles to confuse the people around it but right now, it only seemed to be confusing itself. It was Michael and yet it wasn’t Michael. Gertrude had accomplished her task of weakening the Distortion by forcing it to have an identity but it wouldn’t be too great of a sacrifice to reverse it.

“Fine then, give him back,” Gertrude spat. “If you don’t want his name then give him back. Your ritual would have failed without him anyway.”

“Why does it matter?” The Distortion questioned. “We’ve both failed in our goals and soon you’ll leave this world behind. Why would you need Michael back before that happens?”

“I-”

“Is it because you’re dying?” It guessed with a warped giggle. Gertrude winced, spikes of pain cutting through her chest as if the wounds were reacting to the acknowledgement of her current state. “Is this some last-minute bargain with any higher power to convince them that you were a good person? Or do you only wish to convince _yourself_ that you weren’t a complete monster this entire time?”

“Why wouldn’t I want him back?” Gertrude reasoned, nearly growling at the audacity of this _thing_ calling her a monster. “He was one of my assistants. He was so _young_.”

“Do not forget, dear Archivist,” The Distortion chided. “I am Michael now. I have his memories. You never _cared_ for him, not once. He realized that the longer he stayed in my corridors, smashing windows and opening doors and losing himself to me.”

“I still-”

“You allowed him to stay ignorant.”

“It was for the best-”

“Kept him in the dark.”

“Emma only-”

“You _lied to him.”_

_“Shut up!”_

Gertrude gasped, her head spinning from the agony of an outburst she didn’t have the energy for. The Distortion laughed again, a sound that was all at once familiar and foreign to her ears.

“Gertrude Robinson, I do believe that you are _spiraling_ right now,” It remarked with distinct enjoyment.

“I haven’t failed,” Gertrude ground out. What was she doing? Why was she arguing with this creature? “Not like you. Sasha will be the new Archivist. She has to be and she’ll know what to-”

“Sasha?” The creature interrupted, curiosity replacing the dark delight in its voice. Gertrude froze as the realization of her mistake settled like ice in her veins. “What an interesting name. I’ve noticed those more, since you gave me one. I’d like to meet this Sasha one day.”

“Stay away from her,” Gertrude demanded, her vison swimming even more as it swirled the figure before her into an abstract picture of colors and shapes.

“No, I don’t believe I will,” It replied thoughtfully. “Maybe we’ll get coffee together. That’s something people do, right?”

“Don’t-” Gertrude broke off as a coughing fit overtook her, the stress of her wounds finally taking its proper toll.

“ _Oh_ ,” It cooed over her hacking breaths. “Your time is coming to a close. I don’t have the intuition of the End but that much is clear.”

“Michael has to be in there somewhere,” Gertrude reasoned. “Why else would you come find me now. Just to watch me die for what I did?” She leveled what she could only hope would be perceived as a knowing stare in the creature’s direction. “Revenge and retribution? Those are very human desires for something like you.”

“You’re right. In a way there _is_ more than one reason why I am here, why I sought you out.” The Distortion smiled at her and this one… _this one_ chilled her more than all the rest. It was not twisted. It was not sadistic or gleeful or unnatural. It was too _damn human_ for something that had no right to such a title. The Distortion stepped closer towards her, stopping just a foot away and bending slightly at the waist so it was eye level with her. “The Spiral wished to see the last moments of the Archivist to know that the Eye has lost a pawn, but Michael…” The smiled dropped. “Michael Shelley wished to see the last moments of Gertrude Robinson.”

It fell silent, staring back at Gertrude with such plain contempt as she drew in breath after ragged breath. Panic began to settle within her, a rare feeling for her that had not often been felt in her lifetime. She hadn’t wished to die in the presence of this creature but now it was clear that it would not be leaving until she did.

Why couldn’t it just _leave_? She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to have her death observed by some spiteful monster who wore the face of…she didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t her _fault_.

She had thought it was necessary. It was _necessary._

She hadn’t…otherwise she wouldn’t have…Michael didn’t need to…

The smile was back.

Gertrude’s head was swimming and she could barely stay awake for any longer but she saw that the smile had returned to Michael’s…no, to the Distortion’s face. Lacking the energy to hide anything, it could likely decipher the chaos of her thoughts with no trouble at all. It was smiling at her conflict, at her guilt and her denial, and Gertrude could not escape its judgment.

As her vision faded and she finally began to slip into unconsciousness, she prayed to anything that would listen that that smile would not follow her.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I feel like I'm too hard on Gertrude and then I remember Michael Shelley existed and I go feral


End file.
